Knock Four Times
by Watertreker568
Summary: "In the end, he redeemed himself. I think that's all that matters." Jack nodded, silently mourning his former partner. Who would have thought? End of Time re-write. Angst, non-cannon character death.


Knock four times

"In the end, he redeemed himself. I think that's all that matters." Jack nodded, silently mourning his former partner. Who would have thought? End of Time re-write. Angst, non-cannon character death.

An: another John fix-it. But this one was just way too angsty to put in my other fic. And, it wasn't a suggestion. So, if it makes you cry, I did it right. There is some cursing and mentions of John's past, which aren't cannon.

FOUR_

Wilf ran towards the nuclear vault, intent on freeing the other man, who was frantically hammering at the glass, trying to escape.

He was halfway to the door when an unseen force knocked him to the side. Looking back, he watched, horrified, as a middle-aged man wrenched open the door, taking the place that he should have occupied. The man slammed his hand down on the release, evidently yelling at the astonished scientist to get out, run, fast! The man in the lab coat didn't have to be told twice.

"Hey! HEY!" Wilf yelled, trying to get the younger man's attention, as he worked quickly and confidently at the controls of the machine. "HEY! You'll be trapped in there! YOU HAVE TO GET OUT!"

The grandfather's warnings fell on deaf ears, as the man sill worked diligently at the controls. The sword strapped around his waist banged against the glass walls of his enclosure, but the man paid no heed, and simply went right on working.

The building shuddered, the infrastructure protesting the strain placed upon it, as it forced off the invading planet, sending it back into the time lock. Wilf stepped closer, seeing the stranger's lips move, forming words. When he was close enough, he could make out a faint London accent, coupled with a voice that, in previous years, would have certainly been that exact pitch of tenor to sweep ladies off their feet.

"Come on baby." The man whispered, apparently soothing the machine at which he had stationed himself. "I know you can do it. Just a little more sweet heart. Just a little more, hold on there…" he stroked the panel soothingly, as if he really could hear the computer.

Wilf froze, as the trembling stopped. He glanced fervently between the stranger and the Doctor, who was speaking angrily to the time lord president.

"But you can't!"

"Please." Wilf begged, pressing a hand to the glass that separated him from his rescuer. "Please get out of there. Let me do that. You can tell me how, it it's that important."

Finally, the man paused, sparing him a glance. Then, to Wilf's surprise, he let out a short, broken laugh.

"It's not remotely important." The man replied evenly, his hands returning to their fiddling. "I'm only doing it to keep my mind off of how monumentally stupid I'm being."

Wilf couldn't control a sob. He sounded so young and broken. Why would a man with so much of his life left ahead of him simply give everything up for an old, retired bum like him?

"I'm not young." The stranger snorted. "Hell, I'm probably older than you could believe."

Wilf paused, suddenly concerned. Had he read his mind? The man looked at him curiously, noticing the expression on his face.

"You muttered that 'he's so young.' Was I wrong in assuming that you were talking about me?"

Wilf shook his head. "Please, whoever you are, let me go in there. I know something bad's gonna happen, and those nuclear whatevers don't sound liked they'd fare too well with a planet leaning on them."

His sarcasm was rewarded by a wry smile. "And that's why I need to do something. Because every inch of me is screaming, demanding that I save myself. It's a time agent's first prerogative, you know. Always look out for yourself first. You have absolutely no idea how tempting it is to simply open up the vault and let you saunter in to my place."

"Then let me." Wilf pleaded once more. "I'm just an old man, no good to anyone. I wasn't even able to fight in the war! Let me do this, please. You have so much life!"

The man laughed again.

"Do you know why that is?" he asked, his voice taking on an odd tone. "The reason I have so much damned life is because the only thing I know how to do is take it from others. From the moment I was born, I was marked as an assassin. The only thing I have ever known is blood. My only childhood memories are that of a soldier, training, working a gun apart, cleaning it, putting it back together, then firing, until it became second nature. While other kids my age were out having first kisses and dates and fucks I was having first knives and murders and rapes." He froze, looking deep into Wilf's eyes, as I he could see straight through to his soul. Wilf shuddered, horrified at the age the boy's – because deep inside, that's all he really was, since he never got the chance to grow up, he was just a lost, abused child inside – eyes betrayed.

"So don't tell me that I deserve life anymore than you do Wilfred Mott. Don't you dare tell me that you're no good because you weren't thrown into the battlefield half trained to taint your hands with the blood of men who had no clue what they were fighting for. Don't you even DARE to sacrifice yourself for me Wilfred Mott. Because I am truly not worth it." He bit back, his eyes growing hard with dead certainty once more.

"Who are you?" Wilf managed to wonder, around his shock and terror. How could this man know him? Know his name? A man who had done so, so much already, who spoke with an empathy that only came from personal experience, and who Wilf couldn't help but feel for. That was no sort of a life for anyone, especially since he hadn't chosen it for himself.

"John." the man replied, turning back to the controls. "Captain John Hart."

"John." Wilfred sighed, leaning against the glass once more. John rolled his eyes, glaring back at the older man as he sneered.

"Look, if you're gonna' try to-"

"Thank you."

John blinked, looking as if he had been slapped. Wilf mutely wondered if anyone had ever thanked him for something before, or if it had only been orders for his whole life. If Wilf had had anything to bet, he would have placed it on the latter.

"You – You're welcome." The words came out ragged, broken; as if he had needed to look them up in the cultural phrasebook before being able to answer. That only made Wilf feel even more for the poor man. Since he had never been thanked, why would he ever need to answer such a statement.

"Now, if you don't mind, my self preservation instincts have started to return."

And with that, the moment was broken, lost in the sea of horror and tears that was John Hart's life.

Wilf stayed with him through it all, only occasionally glancing away to catch a glimpse of the Doctor. Thankfully, he made no attempt to fill the silence with small talk or questions, for which he believed John was quite grateful. From what he had already divulged, he wasn't the type who wanted to go out with the memories of his parents or his childhood or where he had gone to school. Wilf wouldn't want the last moments of his life to be tainted by the plagues of his past.

After what seemed like hours, the Doctor approached the tank. He took one look, then blinked, clearly expecting Wilf to be manning the controls.

"Wilf?" he asked, unsteady on his feet. The older man pushed off the glass, smiling hopefully at John, who had ceased his fiddling. The former time agent stared after him, his eyes dark with a hidden regret. Wilf could tell that he would have loved to know the captain in his younger years, before time had stolen so much of him away.

"Doctor!" he rushed over to the time lord, smiling at him. "Great they you're here! John's gone and locked himself in, and I…" He stopped at the look on the Doctors face, as he stared at the time agent. "What?"

"John?" the Doctor asked, taking a hesitant step towards the vaults. "John Hart, former time agent? It is you, right?"

"Nice to see ya' Doc." John smiled, but a lingering sadness could be seen behind it. "It's been a while."

"Yeah." The doctor laughed tiredly. "Yes, it has. Last time I saw you…" he trailed off, immediately regretting his choice of words as John winced. "I'm sorry." The doctor apologized.

"No, it's fine." John looked away, no longer able to look the man in the eyes. "You're getting old. I get it."

"No. I'm sorry I didn't take you." The doctor corrected. John's head snapped up, fast enough that another man may have broken his neck.

"You don't mean that…" John stepped away from the door, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Yes, I do." The doctor argued, stepping even closer to the glass vaults. "I knew what the Agency was doing, and I knew that they stole children from other planets. I should have taken you – I knew you were marked. I should have taken you when I brought Adric with me."

John's eyes glazed over, making it obvious that he was lounging in his memories.

"I was five… the school had just kicked me out of the math department. Adric was my best friend, even though he was a lot older than me. Then you…" he shook his head, dispelling the memories. "It doesn't matter."

The doctor opened his mouth to speak, to explain how it really, really did matter, and to reiterate how sorry he was, but John simply shook his head sadly.

Wilf couldn't take it anymore. "Please doctor, you have to help him!" he urged, gesturing frantically to the vaults.

The doctor sighed, as alarms began to sound around the machine. John remained unfazed by the sound, instead focusing on the floor, rather than face the doctor's apologetic gaze. He leaned back, lounging almost relaxed against the rear wall of the enclosure.

"I can't Wilf." The doctor admitted, his voice rough with regret.

"But … you have to. I mean, you're a time lord, aren't you? There must be some way!" Wilf couldn't stand the thought of such obviously talented young man dying because of some rich idiot's mistake.

"Wilf, the controls are fused." John shrugged, nonchalant in the face of his own peril. "There's nothing he can do that will get me out of here, without flooding the entire unit with radiation."

"John, you still have your manipulator?" the doctor asked, a hesitant gleam of hope entering his eye. John nodded. "Then you can teleport out of there! As long as it still works…"

"Sorry Doc." John shrugged acceptingly. "It fried the minute I walked in here. This field," he gestured to the vaults, "is so much stronger and localized than anything it was designed to cope with. Plus, it's really old… I was four updates behind when the agency shut down in the first place, and that was three years ago. There's no teleporting out of this one."

Finally, he looked up, meeting the Doctor's eyes. There was such a quiet, submissive acceptance of his fate, that the alien refused to simply leave him.

"No." the doctor snarled, approaching the vault. "No, John. I'm not letting you down again."

John watched the doctor approach, confused. "Doctor, what are you gonna…" his eyes went wide with realization. "No! NO, you can't! I – I won't let you!"

The doctor reached out for the handle, his gaze still locked with John's. "John, it would be my honor to."

"STOP!" John finally yelled, freezing the time lord in his place, hand outstretched, inches away from the worst mistake John would ever witness. "Don't. Let me do this. If it's such an honor to die for me, Doctor, then do one better." The doctor met his eyes once more. "Live."

"John." The doctor's voice broke, one tear escaping from his eye.

"Please doctor." John all but begged. "Let me do this for once. Don't ruin it by throwing away this regeneration."

"I'm dying." The doctor muttered the admission, guiltily gesturing to the wounds on his face. John smiled sadly.

"Then do it on your own terms, like I'm doing it on mine."

The doctor swallowed, nodding as he realized that, even if he did take John's place, the man wouldn't leave the unit, or would just seek out an equally dangerous situation.

John smiled his thanks, as the doctor backed away. Then, he glanced up, as if only then noticing the blaring alarms.

"Well, I don't suppose you could… you know, speed it up in anyway?" he asked, gesturing to the doctor's pocket.

The doctor raised his screwdriver, his hand shaking uncontrollably. "I'm sorry." He apologized, tears dampening his eyes. John grinned, a half smile that proclaims, 'what the hell' and usually preludes jumping uninhibited off a cliff.

"Don't be. It's my choice."

The sound of the doctor's screwdriver became the only noise in the room, as the klaxons quieted.

"Won't be long now." John noted, already beginning to feel the prickle of high energy radiation against his skin.

"I'm sorry. I – I don't know how we'll be able to get you out of there." The doctor whispered, once more approaching the vaults.

"It'll open up after I've absorbed all the radiation." John replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Oh, don't look so surprised doctor. I'm a time agent, remember? Even after all of my critical organs have died, the rest of my cells will continue to absorb the radiation until they're saturated. With the amount of energy this thing runs on, I ought to be able to take it."

He let a wry grin slip. "Never thought I would be saying that to you Doc. And damnnit, I can't even follow through with it!"

"Stop it." The doctor chastised, though it was obvious that he but no energy into it.

They simply stood in silence for a few minutes longer, before John started to show his ordeal. His hands shook, the tremors migrating up his arms, until all of his torso was shuddering.

"It's starting." He grimaced through clenched teeth, fighting to remain standing. "Won't be long before I'm-"

"Don't." the doctor pleaded. "John, don't play tough for me, please. I don't want you to have to do it for me. You don't have to prove anything."

"Goddess!" John screamed, before his knees gave way, and he collapsed to the floor. "I can't – I just can't…" he looked at the doctor helplessly. "You shouldn't have to watch."

"I'm not leaving you like this." The doctor retorted. "If I can't take you out of there, I'm at least not going to let you go on your own."

John forced a smile. "Thanks doc."

"Really John. It's my honor. I don't care what you've done. It is my honor, because you, Captain John Hart, are braver than any of us. Braver than any war hero. Because you came back. You could have left this life behind, but you didn't. you faced your past, faced your demons, and you still chose to stay, doing what you do best, for the most noble cause you could find."

"I…" John seemed lost of words. The doctor smiled gratefully, turning away briefly to speak to Wilf, who had tears in his eyes, and was holding his hat reverentially. The sight of the old man, clearly hurt by loss and remorse, broke any anger John still had in him. The look on his face reminded John of another World War soldier, who surely was in a different type of pain all his own.

"Doctor?" John barely managed to whisper, pressing his hand against the glass. The doctor turned, kneeling next to the vault, and placing his hand mirrored to the dying time agent's.

"Yes?"" He responded quietly, blinking back tears that were threatening to spill over. He didn't know the man well, but if he had been someone from the time agency, then the Doctor couldn't help but respect his sacrifice. It couldn't have been easy for him, wandering the universe, only one of seven who knew what the agents had been through.

"There's a man, in a bar, far off in time." John smiled, his voice weak as the radiation took its toll on his body. The doctor nodded, understanding who he was referring to.

"Jack." He guessed, the tiniest portion of his hearts lighting up at the gleam that entered John's eye.

"I think your _companion_ deserves more than a one night stand and a fuck toy." John muttered. "Don't you?"

The doctor could visibly see the pain the other man was in, meaning that it must have been excruciating. Weakly, he nodded, unable to control his tears any longer. John smirked in response, before falling against the glass, too drained of his life to support himself anymore.

"Thank you." He breathed, his eyes flitting closed. His body slumped against the wall, no longer held steady by that exuberant, vibrant life force that had survived through anything. Well, nearly. It seemed that finding his soul had proved to reveal the one thing that could kill him – himself.

"No." the doctor replied, still gazing at the body of the man who had, at last, proven himself. "Thank you, John Hart." Then, he scarcely murmured, "thank you."

Hundreds of years in the future, the doctor walked into one of the biggest bars in the galaxy. Spotting the man he was searching for, he quickly made his way to the person's side.

"Captain." He greeted formally.

"Doctor." Jack growled back, playing idly with the glass in his hands.

The pair sat in silence for a moment, surrounded but the hustle and bustle of the bar, and the music playing loudly in the background.

"So, how had life been in the TARDIS?" Jack asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "Been running around saving whole star systems have you?"

"OH you know me." The doctor shrugged, trying to play off the discomfort he felt as simply being near a fixed point. But deep down, he knew he cold only hold off his real reason for being here a short while longer. "Been around, done a few things."

He swallowed. "I ran into an old friend of yours."

Jack's eyes were on him immediately, though the doctor couldn't bring himself to turn and look at the other man.

"Who?"

"John. John Hart."

Jack sat silently, listening in mournful peace as the Doctor explained how the man had died, sacrificing himself for both he and Wilf. The doctor explained how John's manipulator shorted out, and how he had boldly denied the doctor any chance of rescue. 'He wanted to die for a reason.' The doctor explained. He told Jack how he was running out, about the limited number of regenerations a time lord had. How he had already passed the normal seven, and was fast approaching the extraordinary twelve. He softly told how, had John not been there, and Wilf was trapped instead, he would have sacrificed himself without a doubt.

When he finished, the pair languished in the pause, allowing Jack to absorb what he had been told.

"Do you – do you know why he did it?" Jack forced the words out, cringing at how suspicious and distrustful they sounded in that moment. The doctor fixed him with a look, one that said he had heard the words' intent.

"In the end, he redeemed himself. I think that's all that matters." Jack nodded, silently mourning his former partner. Who would have thought? John Hart, tuning into the self-sacrificing type?

"Yeah." Jack agreed weakly. "He found himself in the end."

And that was all that mattered.

FOUR_

Like I said, it was way to angsty to put in my other story. And no, I will not continue it, because I would like to have a break from crying on my keyboard, thank you very much.

And I may have gotten the scenes wrong, but oh well. Tough. Tant pis pour toi.


End file.
